May 10 - Poetry my Mother loved

Mum (Elva)  has been unresponsive for the last couple days. She is still breathing but hasn't opened eyes or moved or made any other noises. Her heart is racing at rate of 150, which it has been doing for the last couple days. 

Rachel's husband and other 2 children are to arrive on Wednesday evening.

Your prayers are appreciated.

--Rachel VandenBerg 

Mum has always loved poetry, I found these two in her file that I thought would be appropriate to share with you. I remember her quoting them to me in the past. I am not sure who wrote them, as far as I can see from the internet they seems to be author unknown.

This hand written verse is only part of the poem, I found the whole thing on the internet, so will post it here author unknown:

THEN SHALL I KNOW 

My life is but a weaving Between my Lord and me. I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily. 

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, And I in foolish pride Forget He sees the upper And I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent And the shuttles cease to fly Shall God unroll the canvas And explain the reason why. 

The dark threads are as needful In the weaver's skillful hand As the threads of gold and silver In the pattern He has planned.

HE LEADETH ME 

"In pastures green?"—Not always. Sometimes
He, who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways, where heavy shadows be;
Out of the sunshine warm and soft and bright,
Out of the sunshine into darkest night;
I oft would faint with sorrow and affright,
Only for this—I know He holds my hand;
So whether led in green or desert land,
I trust, although I may not understand. 

"And by still waters?"—No, not always so.
Ofttimes the heavy tempests round me blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.
But when the storm beats loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by,
And whispers to my soul, "Lo, it is I!"
Above the tempest wild I hear Him say,
"Beyond the darkness lies the perfect day;
In every path of thine I lead the way." 

So, whether on the hill-tops high and fair
I dwell, or in the sunless valleys where
The shadows lie,—what matter? He is there;
And more than this:—where'er the pathway
Lead He gives to me no helpless broken reed,
But His own hand, sufficient for my need.
So where He leads me I can safely go;
And in the blest hereafter I shall know
Why, in His wisdom, He hath led me so.